


Da-Dee

by jarenshapadackllins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Babysitting, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Like super fluff, M/M, dadstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarenshapadackllins/pseuds/jarenshapadackllins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean can’t help glancing down where his collar hangs, the top two buttons undone and his tie loosened around his neck. It’s twisted around and Dean thinks about moving closer and fixing it.<br/>So he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Da-Dee

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is not beta read.**

“Sam, I need your help.”

Castiel has a stack of folders balanced in one hand, searing hot coffee in the other, phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek, and his daughter yanking at his pant leg.

“ _I’m at a meeting, Cas,_ ” Sam sighs into the phone.

“I -- Claire, honey, go play in the living room,” he shakes his leg a little, trying to keep his coffee away from her.

“Play with me, Daddy!” she whines and continues to pull insistently on his pants.

“Daddy needs to leave for work. Sam,” he sounds like he’s about to beg. Which he is. “My babysitter just cancelled and I can’t call in on such short notice. I really need help.”

There is silence on the other end of the line, and Cas briefly thinks Sam hung up.

“ _I can ask my brother, I think he’s off tonight,_ ” Castiel can hear Sam’s light taps on his phone screen and he assumes he is sending a message to his brother. Technology is so weird.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Castiel smiles, though Sam can’t see.

 

* * *

 

 

The doorbell rings and Castiel darts from his seat on the couch. Claire gripes and follows, hiding behind his legs when she sees her father open the door.

“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel greets, admittedly slightly out of breath, and he can’t decide if it’s from quick movement or the man standing in front of him because _wow_ , green eyes, and he can’t breathe at all. “Please,” he takes a breath. “Come in.”

He realizes quickly that Sam doesn’t look much like his brother. Castiel finds himself completely engrossed and unable to draw his attention away. While Sam’s eyes are a soft hazel color, his brother’s are a vibrant peridot green with speckles of soft gold. They stand out against his slightly tanned skin, and Castiel catches himself staring at the splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks. They’re like a field of stars, and Castiel squints to make sure he can see them all.

He blinks twice and tries to focus on what the Winchester is saying, _not_ the way his lips move around words.

“Dean’s just fine,” the man, Dean, looks around the room before letting his eyes settle on Castiel. Dean smiles -- Castiel feels his heart skip a beat -- and Castiel returns the gesture timidly, ducking his head slightly. He feels his cheeks begin to heat up.

“Dean,” Cas repeats with a nod. “I’m Castiel Novak. This is my daughter,” he places his hand on his young daughter’s shoulder, nudging her forward as he steps to the side. “Claire.”

Dean is tall, albeit not as tall as his brother, and Castiel thinks he realizes that fact as he crouches down and holds his hand out to Claire.

“Hey, Claire,” he says kindly, his voice softer than it was when he replied to Castiel moments before.

She shakes his hand shyly and giggles.

Cas smiles down at her as he checks his watch. It’s ten past nine.

“I should be going. I’m already late,” Castiel sighs, grabbing his briefcase and the trench coat from the wall hook. “I’ll be home around six.”

“We’ll be here,” Dean says, standing to nod to Castiel as he leaves the house. Castiel stops at the door and looks back at Dean, who’s watching Claire wave to her dad.

Right now Castiel doesn’t mind being late, because he met Dean Winchester.

“Be good, Claire!” Cas says as he shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

“Dee!” Claire calls from her play corner in the living room (not once since he stepped over the Novak Threshold has the little girl called him by his name). Her and Dean have been playing house all afternoon, and he’s wondering if she’ll ever get tired of having the same plastic pasta for dinner.

Dean walks back in from the bathroom down the hall, wiping droplets of water onto his jeans. “Sorry, kiddo, needed a quick break.”

“I made dinner,” she holds out a pink plastic plate to him with the classic pasta on it.

“Yum!” he said enthusiastically. This was boring a long time ago, but the least he can do is humor her. She giggles again and turns back to the pastel kitchen playset.

Early evening sun is pouring into the room, casting shadows onto the furniture and playset and warming the house up a couple degrees. Claire is sitting under a ray, and her blonde hair looks nearly white. She looks back at Dean, and her eyes glisten like the caps of waves on the ocean. They look just like her father’s, and Dean loses his breath.

 _I should probably make actual dinner_ , Dean snaps himself back. Usually he doesn’t eat very early, but he remembers that, as a kid, he ate pretty early too. He ruffles Claire’s short, wavy mess of blonde hair and walks to the kitchen.

Cas never said anything was off limits, but he also didn’t say what was on limits. Dean shrugs it off and pulls out some containers, opening them and examining their contents. Grilled chicken, pasta (he shudders), and mac and cheese. He decides to reheat the chicken and a few spoonfuls of mac and cheese for each of them, one serving on a big plate and one on a slightly smaller plate.

He pulls two glasses from the cabinet, which took him forever to find since there’s at least twenty different overhead cabinets in here. Dean places the steaming plates and empty glasses on the table, along with a fork and knife for himself and a small fork for Claire. He cuts her chicken into bite-sized pieces before calling her into the kitchen.

“Claire, c’mon get dinner,” he calls, and he cracks a little smile at the quiet _pit-pat-pit-pat_ of her feet on the floor.

“Mac and cheese! That’s my favorite!” she pulls herself up onto the seat across from Dean’s plate, since there are only two chairs at the table, and practically shovels the mac and cheese into her mouth. Dean can’t help but laugh.

“Alright, kiddo, what do y’want to drink? There’s water, milk, juice -”

“Juice!”

He nods and pours her glass full of apple juice. Dean fills his own with water and sits across from her. For the entirety of dinner, Claire rambles on and on about her first grade class, telling him about her best friend Ben and how he’s in Mrs. Mills’ class, while she’s in Miss Barnes’ class, so they can only see each other during recess, and how Miss Barnes said that, one day soon, they’ll be carving pumpkins for Halloween. Dean decides not to tell Claire how each time she excitedly kicks her legs, it’s not the table leg she is kicking. He will probably sport a bruise on his right knee for a couple of weeks.

“What are you being for Halloween, Dee?” Claire asks as she pushes her macaroni around the plate.

“I don’t really dress up. S’not my thing,” he notices the sad expression that graces her face and he feels a little bad. “But I used to dress up all the time with my little brother.”

Her face lights up again. “Really? What’d you dress up as?”

“All sorts of things!” Dean waves his hand up in the air. “Our favorite was superheroes, though.”

“I like superheroes! And princesses,” she says. “My favorite superhero is Captain America, and my favorite princess is Belle. I was Belle last year for Halloween!”

“That’s _so_ cool,” Dean smiles. He’ll never forget how excited Sammy always was for Halloween. It was probably the kid’s favorite holiday, and who could blame him? Free candy from strangers, and you get to wear a costume. What could be better?

When they’re done eating, Claire helps Dean bring all the dishes to the sink. She runs off, and Dean takes it upon himself to wash off the dishes and place them on the drying rack. There is no reason for Castiel to come home from work to a messy kitchen. He scrubs at the plates while he listens to Claire in the other room, still rambling on about school and their upcoming Halloween party. Once he’s finished, he joins her back in the living room.

Dean takes a seat on the couch and switches on the TV. He stretches his legs out in front of him and drapes his arms over the back of the couch. While they were eating the sun had set, and now moonlight floods the room and illuminates Dean’s and Claire’s faces with a ghostly pale glow. Colors danced along the walls as the TV began playing. It catches Claire’s attention almost immediately, and she hops up from the floor, abandoning her toys, and onto the couch, nestling herself against Dean’s side. Usually he would be opposed to such close quarters, but she’s six, and Dean’s not a _complete_ asshole.

“Dee?” She says softly, looking up at him with doe-eyes and, jeez, her eyes look exactly like Castiel’s. It’s pretty adorable.

“Yeah?”

“Can we watch cartoons?” She bats her eyelashes for extra effect.

“Of course,” Dean’s a sucker for puppy eyes. Sam would know. Claire cheers excitedly and grabs Dean’s arm from where it rests along the back of the couch, pulling it down and wrapping it around herself.

Now it’s _really freakin’_ adorable. But Dean won’t admit that. He flips through the channels until she tells him to stop.

It’s been a few episodes of some show called Adventure Time, and Dean hears a car door slam outside. He looks down when Claire doesn’t react and finds her sound asleep, most of her face hidden against his chest. Dean turns his head slightly, trying not to move too much, and is glad he can see the door from here. When Castiel walks in, Dean brings his free hand to his face and presses his index finger against his lips.

Castiel nods and leans his briefcase against the wall and hangs his coat back on the same hook it was on before. He moves quietly into the living room and around the couch, smiling at both Claire and Dean.

When Castiel kneels down in front of the couch, Dean gently pulls his arm away from Claire. Cas wraps his arms around Claire and lifts her, her head bobbing slightly as he stands up again. Dean watches him disappear upstairs.

He stands from the couch and grabs his jacket from where it lay across the armchair beside him. It’s late October now, and he should probably be wearing something a little heavier, but he doesn’t mind the cold that much. As he’s pulling on the other sleeve, Castiel returns from upstairs.

“Thank you so much, Dean,” Cas smiles, and he looks tired.

“It’s no problem, Cas. She’s an angel,” Dean adjusts his jacket and zips it up.

“Sure,” Castiel laughs.

Cas is looking at Dean, and Dean is looking at Cas. Dean takes in his features, the sharp nose and hooded eyes, the unruly mess of dark hair, the thick pink lips that are pulled back in a kind smile. He feels something flutter in his chest, and when Dean looks back up to Cas’ eyes there’s something warm in them.

Dean can’t help glancing down where his collar hangs, the top two buttons undone and his tie loosened around his neck. It’s twisted around and Dean thinks about moving closer and fixing it.

So he does.

And maybe it is a more personal action, but Dean just babysat his daughter for the whole day, so, whatever, right?

He grabs the knot, tightening it slightly as he unfurls the fabric and lets it fall back against Cas’ white dress shirt. When Dean looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes, they are set on something else -- something Dean is going to guess is his mouth.

But he pulls away, and Dean’s hand drops to his side. Cas is ruffling through his trench coat, trying to find the front pocket.

“Let me get some money,” he mutters quietly, and Dean takes one step over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t have.

“Woah, hey, I don’t need any money,” Dean laughs a little.

“You just spent a whole day with my daughter, your _day off_ at that. I think you deserve money for that,” Cas turns to the coat again, but Dean tightens his grip on the man’s shoulder.

“No way, dude,” Dean backs toward the door, letting go of Castiel and reaching for the knob instead. “I’ll see you around. Tell Claire I said bye, will ya?”

He opened the door, a rush of chilled air forcing itself into the room. Castiel is still standing by his coat, staring at Dean.

“Night.”

 

* * *

 

“Daddy?”

Castiel is in the middle of doing the dishes, and Claire is sitting at the table eating pancakes. It is their own weird tradition that every Saturday is Pancake Day. It’s Claire’s favorite day of the week, and she is currently stuffing fluffy pancakes with gooey syrup drizzled over top into her mouth with her bare hands.

“Chew your food, Claire,” he laughs. “What is it?”

“Is Dee gonna be here Monday?”

Dee? _Oh_. Dean.

“No, honey, Bela’s coming back,” he places a clean dish on the drying rack and turns to see the sad expression on his daughter’s face.

“But Bela doesn’t play with me or watch cartoons with me or call me Claire-Bear or, or,” the more she speaks, the more her voice begins to tremble, and the more Castiel’s heart sinks.

But Cas also feels something else. Claire likes Dean, and Dean gave her a nickname and plays games with her. He makes her happy, and that makes Cas extremely happy.

“Bela has been your babysitter for a year now,” Castiel says, sort of hating himself for saying it because, as soon as he does, Claire starts crying.

“Daddy, I want Dee!” she sobs and drops the ripped off piece of pancake in her hand onto the floor.

Castiel wipes his hands on a dry dish towel and walks over to Claire’s seat, squatting down in front of her and taking her little hands in one of his, drying the tears on her cheeks with the thumb of his other hand.

 _It’s a reason to keep seeing Dean_ , Cas thinks. He doesn't even know what about Dean makes him so alluring. Enticing. Tempting. Maybe one day he will find out.

This is crazy. Castiel talked to Dean for _at most_ five minutes.

“Alright, honeybee, I’ll call Dean tonight, okay?”

She nods and sniffles.

 

* * *

 

“Really. I told her the old babysitter would be back and she started crying,” Castiel has his phone pressed to his ear and his elbow rested against his desk. He and Claire just finished eating dinner and she is busy watching TV while he is scrolling through some new articles online, and it is fairly boring. But he is talking to Dean and that isn’t boring at all.

“ _Cute_ ,” Dean laughs over the line, and Castiel grins. “ _I mean, I could probably do it. I work morning’s at a friend’s car shop. What time does she get out of school?_ ”

“Three, usually. On half-days it’s one,” Cas exits out of the internet. It’s distracting.

“ _That’s not half! That’s, like, a third._ ”

“Yeah, well,“ Castiel huffs. “The kids don’t know that.”

Dean chuckles again, and Castiel finds that he really likes that sound. “ _Alright, I’ll do it. Monday to Friday?_ ”

“Not Wednesday. I have off on Wednesdays.”

Him and Dean discuss babysitting for all of ten minutes, and Castiel doesn’t even noticed when the clock hits eight and they’re talking about whether or not Batman would win in a fight against Iron Man.

Castiel reluctantly says goodnight to Dean. He puts Claire to bed that night, giving her the news that Dean will, in fact, be her babysitter from now on. She flails around excitedly and hugs her father’s neck tightly when he leans down to kiss her forehead.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning, Castiel pulls up to the front of the school and Claire unbuckles herself, hopping out of the car and slinging her backpack onto her shoulders. Castiel turns to see her.

“Dean’s picking you up after school where I usually do, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Have a good day at school, and I’ll see you tonight. I love you,” he waves.

She waves back. “I love you too, Daddy!”

Claire is beckoned over by one of the supervising teachers, so she shuts the car door and skips into horde of elementary school kids.

 

Dean has his head in the engine of a car and music blasting through the garage, so it’s a pretty great Monday so far. Except the music dims and he hears heavy footsteps coming toward him. But everyone knows there’s only one other person Dean will let touch the stereo in this place. He stands up straight and stretches, groaning at the pops from his spine.

“Boy, you do that all the time and you’ll end up with arthritis,” Bobby stands next to him and looks over the car. “She’s lookin’ good.”

“Thanks,” Dean smiles, proud of his handiwork. He’s been practically building this car from the ground up since it came in last week; a 1965 Ford Thunderbird that was left for dead in someone’s backyard. “Hey, I got a question.”

Bobby grunts in response. Dean takes it as a go-ahead.

“Can I take the earlier hours? I’m watching a friend’s kid in the afternoon Monday through Friday.”

“Someone trusted _you_ with their kid?” Bobby huffs. “Wow.”

“I’m good with kids!” Dean says defensively.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, I’ll write you in for opening from now on,” Bobby roughly pats Dean on the shoulder as he walks out of the garage, and Dean sighs at the thought of having to wake up even earlier for opening, but he’ll get over it.

 

* * *

 

“ _Has Dean corrupted your daughter yet?_ ”

“Would he?” Castiel furrows his brow at Sam’s question. He shuffles through papers on his desk in a fruitless effort to make everything feel a little more organized, but everything is everywhere and he really needs to do some serious cleaning.

“ _Give him time,_ ” Sam’s laugh resonates through the speaker. His and Dean’s are similar, both having a rough undertone in their voices, but he still likes Dean’s the best.

They talk for a little longer, only about their jobs, really. It’s nothing like the pointless conversation him and Dean had just last night, and Castiel doesn’t know why he’s still thinking about it. Dean probably does that stuff with other people all the time.

It’s nearing three, and Castiel wonders if he should call home later, just to check up on them and maybe to ask how Dean’s morning was.

Since when was he curious about that?

He found out from Sam that Dean has a passion for cars and has a degree in mechanical engineering, that he drives a 1967 Chevrolet Impala and it means the world to him, the only music he’ll listen to is good ol’ rock and roll, and his favorite superhero is Batman, which totally explains why he was so adamant about him being able to kick the ass of any other superhero ever (“ _He doesn’t have any powers, Dean._ ” “ _He doesn’t need powers, he’s a natural badass. Face it, Cas, he can beat anyone, any time, any day._ ”)

There’s still more to Dean that he wants to know. He wants to know what got him into superheroes in the first place, and why he enjoys classic cars, and his favorite food so that Cas can make it for him and Claire to eat for dinner one night. Cas wants to know things he shouldn’t care about, and it’s sort of beginning to freak him out. He only met him a few days ago.

But Claire adores him. They’ve been through three different babysitters since Castiel’s divorce, and Claire has hated all of them until Dean. It’s surprising, because he’s tall and has a really nice amount of bulkiness to him that looks like it came from decent exercise and good meals and it all gives him a little bit of an intimidating look. But it doesn’t take long for Dean’s interior to outshine his exterior. From what Claire has told him, Dean has quite the personality, and if he can put up with Claire, he can put up with anything.

Castiel blinks a few times and gets back to work.

 

* * *

 

The school bell rings, and a wave of elementary children floods out from the front door. Little boys and girls are running to their parents excitedly and bouncing up and down, some showing off artwork, others blabbering on about the events of the day. It getting cold out, and there are some kids bundled in hats and scarves, even some with gloves.

Dean’s parked at the curb over by the side door where more parents are waiting. He’s leaning against the trunk of the Impala, watching for Claire in the sea of kids.

Blonde pigtails bob up and down and his eyes follow them until he sees Claire emerge, a big smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Dee!” She cries out, arms outstretched as she runs closer. He crouches down and lets her attack him with a hug, which he returns warmly. Dean pulls away from the hug and smiles at her.

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?”

“Awesome!” She giggles.

Dean stands and leads her to the car door, helping her into the back seat and buckling her in. For the whole ride home, much like dinner on Saturday night, she goes on about the day, and how Miss Barnes played a game with them and she worked on learning subtraction with candies.

They reach the Novak house and Dean gets the spare key from atop the lintel where Cas put it for him. He unlocks the door and Claire darts under his arm and inside, flopping her backpack loudly against the kitchen floor. Dean joins her moments later when she’s pulling out a worksheet.

“We got homework,” Claire sighs. Dean understands the pain of homework, so he pulls the other chair around and helps her through the handful of subtraction problems on the page.

They get creative, using carrot sticks to help.

Claire has eight carrot sticks.

She gives three to Dean.

Eight minus three, so they eat three.

“Five!” Claire shouts with a mouth full of baby carrots. Dean laughs and nods.

 

Tonight, Claire gives Dean the _official_ house tour. He knows the first floor: walk in the door, kitchen to the left and living room to the right, and bathroom down the hall. There’s a small dining room connected to the kitchen, but it doesn’t seem useful here.

She tugs him up the stairs and to the center of the hall, pointing out ‘Daddy’s Room’ at the end of the hall and her’s off to the right with an adjacent bathroom. Dean follows her into her room, leaning on the door frame as she talks extensively about her toys and stuffed animals and making it very clear that her plush cat is her favorite.

“His name is Cake,” she snuggles the light-orange stuffed animal before setting it back on her bed. It looks worn and well-loved, and Dean wonders if it’s a hand-me-down toy or if Claire has just loved it that much for six years.

After she enthuses about her room for a few minutes, she shows him her father’s office on the other side of the staircase. The room has a somber and sophisticated feel to it, with a mahogany desk and a large bookcase between the windows to match. The shelves are filled (some even overflowing) with books ranging in size and Dean wants to know if Cas has read them all.

There’s two chairs under each window, both an army-green sort of color that compliment the dark maroon walls. Dean steps in and looks at Castiel’s desk. There are picture three frames, two on the side closest to him and one of the farther side. Of the two closest to him, one is Claire’s school photo, and another is a picture -- a selfie, he thinks -- of both Castiel and Claire. She’s on his shoulders in the picture and it looks like maybe they’re out hiking or on vacation. It’s a cute picture, and both Cas and Claire look younger.

Claire leads him back downstairs. It’s nearing six and him and Claire already ate dinner (Claire insisted on pizza, so they ordered delivery) and she’s in fuzzy pajamas, so Dean knows that means it’s TV time.

The little girl is already on the couch, bouncing up and down on the cushions and holding the remote to her chest. Dean sits beside her and she takes up the same position she was in the last time, cuddled up against Dean. She gives him the remote and the two of them flip through channels until Claire tells Dean to stop. They watch cartoons again, and that show Adventure Time is on. Again. But Dean thinks it’s pretty cool, except he won’t say that out loud.

Dean guesses this will probably be their regular thing, because Claire is fast asleep beside him when he hears a car pull into the driveway.

He turns down the volume of the TV when he hears the door open and throws a glance over his shoulder. Cas places his things down and looks over to Dean, waving a silent hello. He makes his way over and around the couch, like the way he did before, and wraps his arms around Claire. Except the grip she has on Dean’s henley gets just a little tighter.

“Mm,” she mumbles, snuggling closer to Dean. Cas smiles.

“Claire? Honeybee, you’re exhausted. It’s time to go to bed,” he cards his fingers through one of her pigtails. She shakes her head and presses her face into Dean’s shirt.

“Dee,” her voice is muffled against Dean. Dean laughs quietly and looks between her and Cas, who mouths ‘ _sorry_ ’ to him. He just shakes his head. He really doesn’t mind.

Cas leans back on his heels and sighs, so Dean sits up and wraps his arms around Claire, pulling her carefully into his lap. Her head lulls to the side and rests against his shoulder as he stands. Castiel gets onto his feet as well, nodding toward the stairs.

Dean takes Claire into her room, illuminated by the soft pink glow of a nightlight. He pushes the pink, purple, and blue quilt down along with the other sheets before gently laying her down beside her stuffed animals. She doesn’t let up her grip on his shirt, so he pries her fingers away one by one, holding onto her hand instead. Cas comes up behind him, pulling the covers over her small body.

“Dee?” her voice is tired and soft.

“Sleep tight, Claire,” he places her hand down atop her stuffed cat toy. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” He stands up and walks to the door, giving Cas his room to say goodnight.

He leans down, smoothing the wisps of blonde hair back from her face, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He whispers his goodnight and joins Dean out in the hall, closing the door behind him and leaving it cracked an inch or so.

“She’s a piece of work sometimes,” Cas laughs. “I’ve never had that much trouble getting her in bed.”

Dean shrugs and follows Cas as he makes his way downstairs again. “Eh. She isn’t any trouble while she’s awake.”

That makes Cas laugh again, and Dean grins. Dean likes the sound of Cas’ laugh. A lot. He grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair and slips it on one arm at a time. Cas is leaning up against the marble counter, watching him.

“I really appreciate you watching her, Dean. She really enjoys having you around,” Cas pushes himself away from the counter and walks to the front door with Dean. _As do I_ , he doesn’t add.

When he opens the door, the cool air rushes in and fights with the heat in the house. Dean steps outside and turns to face Cas.

“Really, Cas, I don’t mind. It’s kinda fun,” Dean feels his cheeks start to heat up at the confession, and he brings his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing at the short hairs.

Cas smiles and hangs onto the door, swinging slightly back and forth with it.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“G’night, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

Wednesday comes along and Dean finds that he’s a little disappointed when he doesn’t need to pick up Claire at three, so he goes home after work and sits on the couch, watching TV and scrolling through random things on his laptop. He answers a few emails, watches a couple YouTube videos, and gets bored extremely quickly.

He’s thinking about calling Bobby and asking for his regular shift on Wednesdays, but his phone dings with a text.

_**Cas Novak:** _

> Are you busy tonight?

Dean laughs.

_**You:** _

> No. Why?

He doesn’t get a text back. Instead, his phone rings. He smiles and shakes his head.

“What do you have in mind, Novak?”

Cas doesn’t reply for a moment. “ _Well, I figured that, since you refuse to let me pay you for watching Claire, you would at least let me take you out to dinner._ ”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes a few times, no words leaving his mouth. Did Cas just ask him out? Like, a date?

“ _Of course, Claire will be joining us,_ ” he says quickly, and Dean can hear Claire speaking in the background but can’t make out what she’s saying. “ _Can’t get away from her that easily,_ ” he laughs, a nervous tinge echoing over the line.

Okay, so, not a date. Right? Cas added that last part pretty quickly, so Dean assumes he didn’t want Dean to think it’s a date, which makes Dean slump against the couch a little bit.

Right?

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replies.

“ _I can pick you up around six? Uh, unless you would like to meet there instead. That's fine too, I just --_ ”

"Cas," Dean laughs, and he can feel little butterflies fluttering around in his chest. “Just pick me up. See you tonight.”

“ _I’ll see you tonight, Dean._ ”

"Yeah."

Neither of them hang up just yet. Dean can still hear Claire blabbering in the background, and Cas can probably hear Dean’s TV. The line finally drops after the long silence, and Dean lets his phone fall to the couch.

 

* * *

 

Dean stares at himself in the mirror for a long time. He’s wearing his crimson button down shirt and his nicest pair of jeans. He figures that this is a pretty universal outfit, so whether they go to a fancy or not-fancy place, he’ll still look decent. And Sam’s girlfriend said that this shirt compliments Dean’s complexion. Not that he cares, or anything.

It’s not a date. Claire’s going to be there, so _it’s not a date_. If Claire had a different babysitter, would it be a date? No, probably not.

The doorbell rings, and Dean doesn’t remember hearing a car. He grabs his wallet and phone on his way to the door, stopping at the hall mirror to adjust his collar. Not because of Cas, because it was uncomfortable, he tells himself.

He opens the door and there are immediately arms around his legs.

“Dee!”

Dean looks up at Cas and he shrugs. “She wouldn’t wait in the car.”

 

Cas takes them to a local Italian restaurant, since you can never go wrong with good Italian food.

He’s dressed in a light blue button down and black slacks that hug his legs nicely and Dean is trying _so hard_ not to eye him up and down. Claire is wearing a dress that matches the color of Castiel’s shirt and it falls just below her knees. Her hair is back in a neat french braid, a small white bow keeping the ends together.

The restaurant is, frankly, romantic. There are soft fairy lights strung across the ceiling, dipping in the spaces between hooks. A candle was lit at each table, accompanied by a small bouquet of flowers. Orchestral music played quietly in the background, and there was a mellow murmur of voices throughout the dining room.

They are seated at a small table near the window, and Claire takes the seat closest to it, leaning on the back of the chair and watching people walk by and car lights flicker. Dean sits across from Castiel and he feels Cas’ knee brush against his own under the table, and in that moment it felt as if every nerve ending in his body was at that single point of contact.

It felt _amazing_.

Dean catches himself. Christ, he barely knows the guy! _And_ he’s Sammy’s friend.

 

Conversation is easy. Claire is too busy playing with her bread roll to pay attention to Dean and Cas while they talk about their jobs. Dean finds out Castiel is an assistant teacher at the local preschool, and that he works with Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica. He also finds out the more dismal facts of Castiel’s life, like how his parents disapproved of him wanting to be a teacher rather than a businessman like his father, and that his wife left him when Claire was only one and a half years old.

“Sometimes I think it’s for the better,” Castiel admits as he picks at his own roll of bread. “There wasn’t much chemistry between us at all.”

“Ever?” Dean asks, his mouth full.

“Ever,” Castiel repeats.

“I respect -” Dean swallows his food before continuing. “I respect you for having to deal with a woman like that _and_ a baby. That’s some tough shit,” Dean covers his mouth, forgetting to censor himself, but the words were said, and Claire wasn’t paying attention. He breathes a sigh a relief and Castiel laughs.

“Thank you, Dean.”

He finds out more about Cas. Like how he likes to run in his free time (explaining the insanely toned thighs and ass, but Dean was _not_ looking), and that, yes, he _has_ read every book in his office bookshelf. He and Claire go on vacation for a couple weeks every summer to either some weird and obscure place or small towns in different states or even countries.

“We’re planning a trip to South Africa this summer,” Castiel pokes Claire’s shoulder. “Right?”

“I’m gonna go snorkeling!” Claire announces to Dean, dropping her bread to the plate. “And go on a safari!”

“That’s awesome!” Dean smiles excitedly at her.

Dean looks between Cas and Claire and, suddenly, his life feels mundane and monotonous. He works for Bobby during the day and, when he’s needed, Ellen Harvelle calls him into the bar at night. Sure, he’s been all over the country, but he’s never really stopped to take a look around.

Castiel, on the other hand, is adventurous and spontaneous, unafraid of trying new things and taking leaps into the unknown. He looks at Castiel and realizes there’s a lot more to him than Dean originally thought.

“Man, compared to you, I’m totally boring.”

“You aren’t boring, Dean,” Castiel says in earnest. The guy actually looks hurt at Dean’s view of his own life.

The waiter places chicken alfredo in front of Dean and lobster ravioli in front of Castiel. A small bowl of minestrone soup is set down in front of Claire and she blows noisily at the steam rising into the air.

“I fix cars and tend bars,” No rhyme intended. “That seems pretty boring to me.”

“ _I_ don’t think you’re boring,” Castiel pokes at his food. “And based on what Sam has said about you, I don’t think anyone does.”

What did that gargantuan freak say to Cas?

But this isn’t the first time someone tried to convince Dean that he leads somewhat of an interesting life, except it is the first time he starts to believe it.

Dean just shrugs in response and feels the telltale burn of blush in his cheeks. This is the second time talking to Cas has made him blush, and that never happens.

There isn’t any pause in their conversation, and they move smoothly from one topic to the next. Dean is asking Cas questions, like what made him want to become a teacher and if he could be anywhere in the world right now, where would he be and why, mostly because he _really likes_ the sound of Castiel’s voice. It’s a heavenly harmony of gravel and silk, and Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it.

The three of them share dessert; a small plate of cannolis made fresh for the night. Claire gets the cream filling all over her face, and Dean laughs as Cas cleans her up. But soon the waiter brings the check, and they both reach for it.

“Dean, allow me,” Cas grabs at the small folder containing their bill.

“No way, Cas. I don’t get a paycheck for nothing,” he grabs the other side and pulls lightly in an attempt to get Castiel to let go.

“You babysit Claire almost every day, and I told you _I_ wanted to take you out for dinner. I thought you would know that I intended to pay for it as well,” he tugs on it.

Dean sighs and lets go. He hates when people pay for him, but if it’ll make Cas happy, then whatever. He’ll deal with it.

 

The ride back to Dean’s house is full of Claire babbling on about her friends and school activities as yellow street lamps light up the car every few seconds. Dean and Cas chime in with an ‘ _ooh!_ ’ or ‘ _wow!_ ’ when she gets more excitable than usual about something. But when Claire stops talking in favor of watching the passing light overhead, everything feels quiet and a heavy blanket of _shitwhatnow_ falls over Dean.

He reaches for the radio, and Castiel looks down quickly but doesn’t object, so Dean flicks it on. He’s more than horrified when _the news_ , of all things, is what Castiel last had on.

“What do you listen to, Cas?” Dean quickly flicks to a different station because how can someone drive a car while listening to the news?

Dean looks to Castiel and sees his brows furrowed and his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He’s _thinking_. Why does he have to think about what music he listens too?

“Classical?” Castiel says, unsure of himself.

“You mean, like, Led Zeppelin and Boston and stuff, right?”

“No, I mean Bach and Chopin. Some Tchaikovsky every now and then.”

Dean looks straight ahead at the road, and he thinks he feels himself going into cardiac arrest.

 _It’s okay,_ Dean takes a breath. _You can still love him, even if his taste in music is shit_.

Wait. Hold on. Stop. What did he just think?

Dean has known this guy for less than a week, and he never even used The-Word-That-Shall-Not-Be-Said when he was with Lisa Braeden for practically an entire year.

Now Dean is really feeling that heart attack coming on because _holy fucking shit_.

He doesn’t touch the radio again, and it’s on some shitty local station, but he couldn’t care less about that right now. There are more pressing matters at hand.

 

Dean’s a little upset when Cas pulls up in front of his house, and he just stares at the front door before looking to Cas.

“Do you two wanna come in? I got some fresh pie from the bakery in town yesterday and I can’t eat it all myself,” he offers with a hopeful expression. Cas raises an eyebrow at the last statement.

“Okay, maybe I can eat it myself,” he toys with the hem of his jacket before looking back to Castiel. “But I don’t want to.”

Seriously? That was so cheesy. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks again and, Christ, that’s the _third time_!

His words seem to be having the same effect on Cas, because, even in the dim moonlight, he can see the color of his cheeks darken as he looks down at the steering wheel.

“Yes,” he replies quietly. “I would like that.”

Claire is excited to be going into Dean’s house, and she explores all of the rooms and asks questions about everything. Dean lets her, since it gives him more time to talk to Cas.

He cuts two pieces of apple pie for him and Cas, and Claire runs over every now and then for Castiel to give her a bite of his. She’s busy taking inventory of the few books and many movies he has in the bookshelf beside the TV while Dean and Cas sit on opposite sides of the small couch.

“This pie is amazing,” Castiel says after a few bites.

“Right?” Dean stuffs a large forkful into his mouth. “It’s crazy. I usually prefer homemade, but this is still awesome.”

For a while, Cas and Dean talk about nonsense. The topic moves quickly from favorite desserts to the reason Dean is against salads and all the way to favorite movies and TV shows.

“Daddy?” Claire bounces over, leaning against Castiel’s knee. He leans down and moves a few pieces of hair away from her face.

“Yes. honeybee?”

“I have to go potty,” she whispers.

“You’re a big girl,” he smiles and turns her to face the hallway. She runs off, and he watches her reach up to flick on the light before shutting the door.

Dean pushes crumbs of pie around his empty plate with his fork. Castiel sets his down on the side table and looks at Dean.

“You’re very good with her,” Castiel comments quietly.

Fourth time. This is the _fourth time_ he has blushed around Cas.

“I mean - I’m not - I just -” he stutters and shifts on the couch.

Castiel scoots a little closer, leaving a little bit of space between them. Dean can feel Castiel’s body heat and he wants to chase after more, but he holds himself back. He can’t make any moves. _This isn’t a date,_ he reminds himself. _And what you’re thinking is not socially acceptable. Stop it, Dean_.

“I -” Castiel clears his throat and Dean looks up at him. Cas’ cheeks are beet red, and Dean finds it sort of endearing. “I find it charming when people are good with kids.”

Castiel holds Dean’s gaze, and this would all probably be awkward if it were anyone else. But it’s Cas. And it _is_ awkward, but it’s an adorable kind of awkward, because Dean feels like a teenager with a crush. But right now he’s struggling to find the right words to say.

Which sends totally wrong vibes to Cas and he breaks away from Dean’s eyes.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

Dean cuts him off as he closes the gap between them. Castiel just watches Dean as his hand reaches up, cupping Castiel’s jaw and gently pulling him forward. Their hot, barely controlled breath mingles in the small distance between them. He doesn’t pull away, so Dean presses his lips to Castiel’s.

It’s short and barely more than a light press of chapped lips from the dry fall air, but it feels like so much more. It feels like a warmth Dean has lacked for so long; like the beginning of something extraordinary.

Dean isn’t expecting Castiel to kiss him again, but he quickly reciprocates and moves his hand from Castiel’s jaw to the back of his neck. Their lips move together slowly, both of them savoring every motion and every touch. One of Castiel’s hands rest on Dean’s thigh, the other gripping his arm tightly.

The bathroom door opens and they pull away from each other quickly. Castiel lets his hands drop to his sides and Dean mimics the movement, feeling the all too familiar heat in his cheeks. Even though Claire is only six, it’s still a little embarrassing being caught kissing.

She walks over, dragging her feet behind her, and slumps over on the couch.

“I’m tired, Daddy,” she mumbles into the couch cushion.

Castiel rubs her back gently. “Alright, we’ll go home,” he looks to Dean and they both stand.

Cas helps Claire pull on her coat as they walk to the door. He ushers her outside and looks down at her. “Go on and wait in the car, Claire. I have to talk to Dean for a moment.”

She nods and walks off to the car. Castiel clicks the unlock button on his key fob a few times to make sure it’s unlocked for her before turning to face Dean.

Neither of them speak. They just stare, taking in one another, and Dean loses himself. The pair of cerulean eyes looking back at him glisten like the morning sun hitting the waves of the sea, or the pepper of stars twinkling in the dark sky above.

Dean reaches hesitantly for Castiel’s hand and he slots their fingers together, relishing the way they fit together. It feels natural. It feels _right_.

“Maybe all this while Claire knew something I didn’t,” Castiel laughs. Dean cracks a smile as he leans in, kissing Castiel softly. Just because now he can.

 

* * *

 

“Rise n’shine!” Dean calls up the stairs, two plates stacked high with pancakes in each hand. He places them down in the middle of the table and sets out three empty plates. He hears the weighty _thud_ of feet hitting the steps and leans out into the hall. Cas’ at the bottom of the stairs, eyes half closed, hair mussed from heavy sleep, and his pajama pants hanging loosely around his waist. He grumbles something under his breath, but Dean doesn’t hear it.

Dean steps out into the hall and places his hands on Castiel’s hips, pulling him close.

“Well, good morning sunshine,” Dean smiles and looks over Cas. He’s cute when he’s sleepy. “I made pancakes _alone_ because _someone_ wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Cas drapes his arms loosely over Dean’s shoulders and buries his face in the crook of his neck, mumbling a ‘ _thank you_ ’ into his skin. Dean feels the warm press of a kiss and he smiles.

The lighter pitter-patter of feet grows louder as Claire hops down the steps with a bright smile on her face.

“Good morning, Da!” She hugs Castiel’s leg tightly before looking up at Dean and holding up her arms. “Good morning, Dee!”

Dean lifts her up and holds her against him with one arm, keeping the other firmly around Castiel’s waist. Dean kisses Claire’s cheek and she giggles.

“Mornin’, kiddie.”

He carries her into the kitchen and sets her down on her chair. Cas sits across from her, pulling her plate closer to him so he can cut her pancakes into bite-sized pieces. Dean ruffles Castiel’s messy hair on his way to fill their glasses with orange juice, and he stops at the fridge to look at the new picture stuck to the door with a small magnet.

It’s a photo of Castiel holding Claire in his arms at the edge of a cliff that looks out over the crystal blue waters of South Africa.  Castiel is placing a kiss on Claire’s cheek and she’s mid-giggle while shying away from her father’s lips, and Dean’s arm is wrapped around both of them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope you enjoyed it!  
> This is my first piece in a while, since I've been super focused on school recently. I've been losing my touch with writing, so I'm trying to get back into it.  
> I was extremely nervous to post this, as, again, it's my first piece in a while and I think it's complete shit, but how am I to get better without constructive criticism from readers?  
> So, I encourage you to leave a comment and help me out! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and anything in between.  
> Also, I apologize for the surplus of italics. _I have a problem_.


End file.
